


A Hundred Different Ways

by one_of_those_crushing_scenes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Body Worship, Ex Sex, F/M, Hawkeye: Freefall, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Selfcest, Sex on Furniture, Spoilers for Hawkeye: Freefall #6, Temporal Boomerang, Threesome - F/M/M, Time Travel, Unsanctioned Use of Time Travel Technology, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_of_those_crushing_scenes/pseuds/one_of_those_crushing_scenes
Summary: Literally what it says on the tin. Clint fixes the time travel doohickey. Then he and Bobbi use it for unapproved purposes. Set after the end of the series.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	A Hundred Different Ways

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic in mind for months and it was probably a mistake to wait until now to post it, given the bleak way the series ended, but...oh well, at least it's kind of canon-compliant?
> 
> Title comes from the lyrics of Janet Jackson's [If](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vi_MZZrzNRE).

Bobbi isn't sure what to expect when she arrives at Clint's building Tuesday night. He didn’t give her a lot of detail when he called, just said there was something he wanted to show her, and not to be late. Then he paused and said, “But don’t be early, either.”

It's been half a year since the whole Ronin fiasco, Clint's big public crash and burn. Since then, they’ve been talking a lot, opening up to each other in a way they never really have before, not even during the best days of their marriage. They’ve spoken about the dark place he was in when he robbed a bank in costume in broad daylight and then beat Parker Robbins half to death after neutralizing his powers, about her own mental state after she returned from Skrull captivity a few years ago, about the Phantom Rider and about Crossfire almost killing her mother and about Clint almost killing Crossfire in revenge. About the Skrulls he had killed in the Savage Land and about Bruce Banner. Even about Egghead, an old Avengers enemy whom, years ago, Clint had accidentally killed by exploding a gun the man was pointing at Hank Pym. It was his first kill ever, and his only one until the Skrull Invasion.

They spoke about the months Clint spent isolating himself in the wilderness after what he'd thought was her death, something she'd never heard about before. They spoke about Clint's own death, indirectly caused by the Scarlet Witch, about the life he remembered them having together in that other universe that Wanda had created, and about his death in that universe, and waking up again back home in a world where everyone he knew thought he was dead. It’s been hard, but productive, and she knows it's more for his mental health and healing, but it's helped settle a lot of things in her mind and make her feel better, too.

He started therapy four months ago and he's been slowly reaching out to and making amends with some of the friends he'd burned bridges with during that time: Spider-Man, Captain America, and even Linda Carter. He still hasn't put the costume back on or touched a bow since that day, but he's getting there. In the meantime, he's picked up a few new hobbies: baking, home improvement, swimming. Seeing him with the sparkle back into his eyes, hearing him laugh without the hollow echo that's been haunting him for months, makes her proud of all the progress he's made.

She doesn't know what tonight is all about, but it's not the first time in the past few months he's asked her to come over to see something he's done. One time it was a tiramisu, another time it was some designs he'd made in a glassblowing workshop. So here she is, eight o'clock sharp, neither late nor early, ringing the bell at the front door of his building and wondering what could possibly make Clint Barton so conscientious about punctuality all of a sudden.

The intercom clicks on. “It’s me,” she says, and the door buzzes open.

Upstairs, he opens the door after the first knock, and she steps inside, then stops in her tracks at the scene in front of her.

There are two. Of him. Them. Clint.

She looks closer. Same face, same haircut, same body. Different outfits. The one who opened the door is wearing a dark blue Henley, top button open as per his usual style, and a pair of jeans. The other one, to the left, is in a form-fitting plum sweater and faded black chinos.

“Can I take your coat?” the Clint in purple asks as the one in blue closes the door behind her.

She looks between the two of them, trying to figure out which one is real, but she can’t tell. Their faces are exactly the same, down to the smallest details, eyebrows and scars and everything. Even their stances match, the way they both lean a little to the left and press into the toes of that foot.

Well, she knew about the LMD project that SHIELD had worked on back in the day, but she never knew the results were this accurate.

The first thing out of her mouth is, "For the record, I had nothing to do with it. I told Nick it was a bad idea, but he does what he wants." She looks between the two of them and frowns. "Which of you is real?"

The Clints look at each other and then back at her. “We’re not LMDs,” the Clint in blue says. “It’s gone, by the way, the LMD you're talking about. But we're," he points to the Clint with the purple shirt and then back at himself, “both me.”

Okay, weird, but she supposes it’s not the weirdest thing she’s ever experienced in her life. Bobbi shrugs off her coat and hands it to the Clint in purple. “So what is it?” she asks. “Magic?”

Blue Clint reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny black trinket with an inlaid button. “Time travel,” he says.

“Shut up,” Bobbi responds automatically. She fucking hates time travel. “Come on, stop messing with me. What’s going on?”

“No, really,” he insists. “This thing sends you an hour forward in time. Gives you an hour in the future. Then it snaps you back to where— _when_ —you came from. It’s how I pulled off the Ronin thing at first. It got broken, but I tinkered with it a little bit and now it works again.”

“I thought you hired a Skrull to pretend to be you.” Bullseye had killed the Skrull, whose name Clint didn't even know, and it's a big part of the guilt he’s still carrying around.

“That was after this broke,” he explains. “Well, then I tried the LMD, but that was a disaster.”

She narrows her eyes at him, trying to see whether he’s telling the truth or not. He looks like he is, and this would be too far to take a joke. And again, this wouldn’t be the weirdest thing she’s experienced in her career. “You’re serious?” she asks, and he nods. “So one of you is from the future and one is from the past?”

“He’s from the future,” Blue Clint says, jutting his thumb at Purple Clint.

“No, I’m from the present, I’ve just _been_ to the future,” Purple Clint corrects him. “You’re from the past, and when you go back to the past, you’ll become me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She’s starting to get a headache. “Isn’t this kind of dangerous? Meeting past and future versions of yourself from the same timeline?”

“Yeah, you’ve got to be careful,” Blue Clint says. “But I’ve done it a few times. I’m getting the hang of it.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks at the two of them again. It’s freaky, seeing double of the exact same person, with only an hour’s difference—no, it must be two hours, if the one who was in the future got sent back an hour earlier—between them. “So, okay, you used this to be Ronin, so you could be in two places at once, and no one would suspect you. That much I get. But why are you showing me this now?”

The two Clints exchange another glance. “You wanna take this?” the one in blue asks. “You know how it's supposed to go.”

“You know that’s why it has to be you,” the one in purple responds.

Bobbi realizes all of a sudden that she’s been so focused on the two Clints in the room that she hasn’t noticed anything else about the apartment, like the dim lighting in the kitchen, the candles on the table, the pots on top of the stove, the aroma of cooked food. The table, however, is not set. Which makes her wonder when, exactly, dinner is called for.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. She turns to the two of them. “Ohhhhh. This is a booty call, isn't it?"

Blue Clint looks at Purple Clint like he’s begging for help. “I can’t,” Purple Clint says apologetically. “It could cause a rift in the time-space continuum.”

“You asshole,” Blue Clint says. “I can’t wait until I’m you and can torture my past self.” He turns to Bobbi with an adorably flustered look on his face. “Not...a booty call. A date. If you want. I just feel like...things have been really good between us lately, you know? Like maybe we could go in that direction.” She tries very hard to keep a straight face as he looks for the words to explain what he had in mind for the evening without scaring her off. She’s not scared off at all—in fact, she’s had half a feeling in the back of her mind since the moment she saw the two of them next to each other—but he’s so cute, she has to let him continue. He takes a step towards her and reaches for her hand, which she gives him. He rubs his thumb gently over hers and says, “I was always planning to ask you to come over for dinner. I wanted to take it slow. And then last night I was looking at this thing,” he shows her the gizmo again,” and I happened to see which parts needed fixing and how to do it and it _worked_ and I got all excited and I wanted to tell you about it and then I thought, well maybe I can _show_ her instead of just telling her, and one thing led to another, and it just hit me that I invited you over for a surprise threesome out of nowhere, and you probably never want to see me again.”

There’s definitely something wrong with her that she finds this so endearing. Bobbi turns her hand over to meet his palm and squeezes his hand. “Hey, relax,” she says. “You were right. Things are really good with us, and, yeah, it’s a little nuts that you went from ‘taking it slow’ to ‘clone threesome’ so quickly, but guess what? I’m into it.”

He peeks at her from the side, looking hopeful. “You’re into it?” Then he looks at Purple Clint for confirmation. “She’s into it?”

Purple Clint brings up his palms defensively. “Hey, man, I can’t tell you things.”

“Yeah, I keep wondering about that,” Bobbi says to him, her scientific curiosity springing to life. “You’ve already experienced this, right? But what happens if things go differently this time around?”

“Well, you know, worst-case scenario? The timelines split in two and the multierse becomes just a teensy bit less stable,” he says. Her eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline, and he quickly adds, “But it probably won't happen as long as I don't talk about what happened during the first run. See, time always tries to stay on track whenever possible. But if I tell you how it's supposed to go, you might be tempted to do something else, just to see what'll happen.”

She wants to think she’s more responsible than that, but she has to admit he has a point. She’s extremely curious about this scenario and she’s not sure she’d be able to resist the temptation.

“But we do this, the first time around?” she asks.

He smiles enigmatically. “I already told you, I can’t tell you.”

Well, she _wants_ to do this, so she guesses that’s as good an answer as any. She’s already starting to feel warm, imagining the three of them entangled in each other, hands all over each other’s bodies.

"Okay,” Bobbi says, and the rasp in her voice surprises her. She turns to Blue Clint. “You said an hour, right? How much time do we have left?"

Clint checks his watch. “Uh, forty-five minutes, to be safe.”

That’s not that much. “Then we'd better get down to business.”

“I’ll set an alarm,” he says.

He presses some buttons on the watch, then looks up at her expectantly. She looks at Purple Clint, hoping for some direction, and he looks at Blue Clint, encouraging him to start. There’s a horribly awkward pause for a few seconds.

“Give us a hint,” Blue Clint says to Purple Clint.

Purple Clint shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Well, you could try kissing her,” he suggests.

“Right.” Blue Clint nods and turns to Bobbi, putting his hands on her waist. “We know this part.”

She takes a step closer to him. She can feel the warmth emanating from his body, familiar and comforting. “Yeah, we know this.”

She lets her eyes flutter closed as he leans in and brings his lips to hers. The kiss is gentle, tentative, like an actual first kiss. Not _their_ actual first kiss, which was a wild maelstrom of emotions and adrenaline, but...well, they’ve had quite a lot of first kisses, the two of them, and this is just the latest in a series of them. She cups his face in her hands, tracing the lines of his jaw that she knows almost as well as her own body, falling easily back into the rhythm of this dance.

Footsteps approach behind her, which would be jarring at a time like this, but they’re _his_ footsteps, she can recognize them in her sleep, and the man moving in from behind is just as much her Clint Barton as the man she’s kissing.

He starts slow, putting his hands on her arms and rubbing them up and down. The move isn’t sexual, but it helps her relax more, and she starts to let go of the last lingering doubts she has about the scene.

The first kiss winds down, and she leans her head against Blue Clint’s shoulder and looks up at Purple Clint. An idea pops into her head. “The two of you should kiss,” she says.

“Did that happen the first time?” Blue Clint asks his future self. Purple Clint grins, eyes sparkling, and without answering in words, he pulls him in for a kiss.

It looks _good_. Bobbi’s always been stupidly attracted to him, and watching two of him go at each other like that...she can’t take her eyes off of them.

After a few seconds, they pull apart slowly, blinking. “How was it?” she asks.

Blue Clint answers. “It was interesting,” he says. "Definitely worth exploring." He goes in for another kiss, and Bobbi settles in to watch. He still has one arm around her, hugging her close, and she can see the muscles of their throats and tongues working while they make out.

The next time they break apart, Blue Clint wipes his mouth on his sleeve, lips red and swollen, and says to Purple Clint, “What do you say we tell her to get lost and figure out this thing between us?” He squeezes Bobbi’s waist while he says it, as if to reassure her that he’s kidding, and she laughs.

Purple Clint gives her a wink. “Yeah, that’s how it happened,” he teases her. “You went home, and I ended up circle jerking myself all night.” He waits a beat, then asks her, “Well, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

“Ha.” She moves closer, putting a hand on his chest, over his shirt, and starts to explore, stroking her fingers down one of his pecs and down his tight abdomen. God, he’s built like a truck, the result of years of training that have molded him into a perfect instrument of strength and agility.

Her right hand does the same thing with Blue Clint’s chest, and she reaches their belts at the same time. With both hands, she takes hold of the bottom of their shirts and pulls upward, exposing the lean stomach muscles. Her hands continue their paths along bare skin as the two Clints rush to take off their shirts and give her more room to explore.

“Mmmm,” she murmurs, looking hungrily at the two identical half-naked men in front of her. “This was such a good idea.” She flicks a hard nipple on each chest, and they let out the exact same groan at the exact same time. “You’re a genius.”

“I keep telling people that, but they never believe me,” says formerly-Purple Clint, the Clint from the future.

“I believe you,” the Clint from the past says. He pulls Bobbi toward him and starts to unbutton her shirt, fingers brushing her sternum down to her belly. When he’s done, he leaves her shirt hanging open at her sides, tips her chin up and kisses her messily, mouth open and wet. Her heart starts to pound as he moves his mouth to the pulse point at the side of her neck, sucking like he wants to leave a mark. Everything in her body comes alive, every nerve ready for more.

Future Clint, standing behind her, slides his hands to her shoulders and eases the shirt the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor. With more skin available to him, Past Clint pushes her bra strap down off her shoulder and licks his way down from her neck to her shoulder. Future Clint traces the wet line with his fingers, then moves to her back, thumbs lightly skimming over her shoulder blades. Bobbi shivers.

Past Clint straightens up and takes a step back. His cheeks are flushed, hair messed up, pupils dilated. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “I want to see her naked,” he tells his future self. A bolt of desire rushes through her at his words.

Bobbi feels Future Clint’s hands come around the front, fingers almost tickling her ribcage, then cupping her breasts. He pulls back the fabric of her bra, exposing her breasts to the air and to view. Her nipples harden immediately, begging to be touched, and she lets out an inadvertent whimper as she leans back against Future Clint’s chest, steadying herself with her hands on his thighs.

Past Clint bites his lower lip, but he holds himself back. “Do you want him to touch your breasts?” he asks Bobbi.

“Please,” she says, just a step above begging.

He nods. “Touch them,” he tells Future Clint.

Future Clint presses kisses to her hair and starts to trace feather-light circles at the edges of her areolas, making her nipples tighten further. She squirms in his arms, needing more, but he draws out the teasing, humming appreciatively at her reaction. Finally, he gives her some relief, firm fingers pinching her nipples as her eyes flutter shut and she lets out an embarrassingly loud moan.

She opens her eyes and sees Past Clint looking on, enraptured. “We look good together,” he says approvingly. He swallows, then adds, “I want to take pictures.”

She tries to imagine how they look, topless, aroused, hungry for each other. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind capturing this moment for posterity, being able to look back at these memories whenever she wanted.

“Birdie?” he prompts.

She nods. “Yeah, okay.”

His face lights up. “Give me your phone,” he says to Future Clint, and then, to Bobbi, “take off your bra.”

She unfastens it obediently and tosses it onto her shirt, and Future Clint fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Past Clint.

“Okay, now just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Bobbi turns to face Future Clint, capturing his lips in a kiss. She plays with the soft hairs at the base of his neck while his hands span her waist. With a grunt, he picks her up and sets her down on the kitchen island. Bobbi can hear Past Clint circling around them to capture them at different angles. She tilts her head back in pleasure, giving Future Clint better access and Past Clint a better view, and she hears multiple clicks from the phone camera as Future Clint puts his mouth on her breast, swiping his tongue across the nipple before taking it into his mouth and sucking. Heat shoots through her body, and she can feel her empty cunt pulse with anticipation.

A final click goes off, and then Past Clint sets the phone down. “Okay, that’s enough watching,” he says, joining them at the counter. “My turn to touch.”

He gives her a dazzling smile. A wave of deja vu hits her and makes her feel a little light-headed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“A little overwhelmed,” she answers honestly, “but in a good way.”

He nods. “Tell me if it stops being in a good way.”

“Of course.”

He pulls her toward him in a protective embrace and runs his fingers through her hair. It’s relaxing, and he repeats the gesture a few times, until finally he finishes with a tug on her hair, drawing an embarrassing squeak out of her. She likes a little bite with her pleasure sometimes, to mix things up, and he knows everything she likes.

He turns them around so that she's standing and he's leaning against the counter. Future Clint steps up behind her and he slides his hands around her waist to the button of her pants. “This good?” he asks.

She nods, and he slowly lowers himself to a kneeling position, as he peels her pants down her legs and takes them off, one leg at a time. He takes off her shoes and socks, and runs his hands up the insides of her calves and up to her thighs, his soft touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“That feel good?” Past Clint asks her, gazing at her face with affection.

“You can't even see what he's doing,” she answers, although of course the answer is yes. 

“Doesn't matter,” he replies, grinning. “I can imagine it. I sure as hell know what I'd be doing do if I was him.” _And I_ will _be him_ , is the unspoken continuation of that sentence.

Future Clint keeps working his hands up her legs, until he reaches the top, then he palms her ass, framing it with his hands. If she wasn't soaked through her underwear before, she is now. He strokes a line with his thumbs across the seam, up and down the curve of her backside, then pushes away part of her underwear and kisses the skin underneath, mouth open and hot. 

Bobbi lets out a surprised squeal. “You're very attentive,” she says to Past Clint. 

He chuckles and responds, “I can't wait to be.”

Future Clint continues his way along her body, moves the fabric of her underwear aside and runs his knuckle through wet folds up to her clit, returns and repeats it a few times. It unlocks something inside of her and she feels her whole body start to soften, her legs getting weak, her hands holding onto Past Clint to keep from sinking into a puddle on the floor.

“Wow,” Past Clint remarks, seeing the expression on her face, “I've never been so jealous of myself.”

“There's no rule that says you can't join in,” comes Future Clint's voice from behind and below her. 

“Right.” He gets onto the floor, one knee at a time, and their hands meet at the band of elastic at her waist. Bobbi watches as they work in sync to pull her underwear down her legs. Past Clint lifts her left leg to take it out of the leg hole and she assumes that the right one is next, but instead, he continues to lift her left leg until it's high enough for him to set on the counter, her knee bent next to her ear and her aching pussy fully visible to both Clints. The stretch is just enough to burn, and she's entirely cognizant of exactly how exposed she is in this position. Instinct makes her want to hide, but she leans into the feeling, focuses on the vulnerability, ramping up the mess of emotions whirling inside of her to full intensity.

Fingers—she's not sure whose—glide through the slick mess between her legs and spread her lips apart, and then they both attack her with their mouths at the same time. Lips and tongues as dexterous as hands explore her center, inside and out. She cries out and sets her hands on the counter to prevent herself from falling over. She’s never felt anything close to this in her life. One mouth, one pair of hands on her is intense enough, but this...this is more than she could have ever imagined.

“She's so fucking hot,” one of them says to the other, and she feels his breath hot against her. 

The other one answers while he works one finger into her, then another. “Yeah. You were an idiot to let her go.”

“Heh. So were you.”

Her heart is overflowing with emotion and her body with pleasure, and she feels helpless to do anything but receive. The fingers slide out of her and are replaced by a tongue, there are hands on her thigh and ass and clit, and she doesn't know what belongs to whom and how it all adds up, but her senses are overwhelmed and she can feel herself on the verge of shattering. Fingers carefully pull the hood of her clit away and Clint in front of her presses a feather-like kiss to the uncovered button. His lips are as soft as she remembers, and she feels like they're taking her apart, like she's floating away from her body. Out of the corner of her eye she notices that the leg on the counter is shaking, but can’t even feel it. Everything in her feels like she’s in a furnace; fat drops of sweat roll down her legs.

She doesn't know how many times she comes like this. It might just be one long peak; she’s lost the ability to differentiate between moments in time. Just as she thinks her legs might be about to give out, one of the Clints picks her up and seats her back on the counter. The underwear dangling from her ankle finally falls to the floor and she rests back on her elbows, limp legs falling apart on their own accord. Without breaking the rhythm, they start to finger her and eat her out again, drawing one last orgasm out of her before she can’t take any more. 

“Stop, stop,” she says, panting through the aftershocks. They ease off, and she continues, “If you keep going, I'll black out. And there's more stuff I want to do before this is over.”

“Yeah, okay,” one of them agrees. They pepper a few last kisses to her inner thighs as they stand up, and she waits for the final flutters of her orgasm to fade before pushing herself up and drawing her legs together. The strain of having held her thighs stretched apart for so long makes her wince, and she knows she'll be feeling that in the morning.

“All right,” she says. “Get naked, the both of you.”

They do it quickly, and she motions for them to come close, one on each side of her while she's still sitting on the counter. She takes a cock in each hand, and feeling a little like a porn star, starts to jerk them both off at the same time. Each hand does the same thing as the other—each stroke, each swivel, each squeeze, each brush of her fingers mirroring the other hand. After a few minutes, they decide to take it to the couch, and they fall on top of each other in a pile, making out casually. Bobbi watches the two Clints kiss each other some more while they rub her shoulders and she drags her nails across their backs, then they take turns kissing her before going back to each other. By now, Bobbi’s not sure which Clint is which, although she’s not sure it matters.

“Okay, you,” she says, pointing to one of the Clints. “Stand up.”

The other Clint leans back and makes room as this one stands. His cock sticks out ahead of him, bobbing with each movement. She keeps her eyes on it, mouth watering, as she puts her hands on his hips and maneuvers him into place. His hands are balled into tight fists at his side, and his pelvis trembles as she walks a line with her fingers down to his crotch.

“I love seeing you like this,” she admits, looking up at his face.

He quirks a grin. “It’s a nice view from this angle, too.”

She laughs and playfully slaps his thigh. Ready to move forward with this, she wets her lips and licks his length once from root to head, then takes him into her mouth.

And that's when his watch starts to beep. Which makes him Past Clint, and it means that his time here is up.

He hangs his head. “Oh, fucking _no_.”

Bobbi’s disappointed, too. She was really looking forward to blowing his socks off. So to speak. She pulls off him, clears her throat and asks, “How much leeway did you give yourself?”

“Just enough to get dressed.” He glares at Future Clint. “You,” he says, with an accusing point of his finger. “You knew this was going to happen, and you didn’t warn me.”

“Sorry, man,” Future Clint says with a shrug. “If it helps, I know how you feel.”

“I’ll make it up to you in about two hours,” Bobbi promises.

“Yeah, yeah.” He starts to collect his discarded clothing from around the room. Bobbi lays her head on Future Clint’s lap, absently trailing her fingers along his thigh, and watches him get dressed.

After closing up his fly, Past Clint pulls a condom out of his pocket. "Hey, Bro, put this to good use."

He tosses it to Future Clint, diverting Bobbi's attention, and when she looks back, he's gone. It surprises her; she expected a bright flash of light or a popping sound or something.

"Is that it?" she asks the Clint next to her. "How do we know he got back to where he was supposed to and that there wasn't some kind of mix-up?"

“Don't worry, I remember it happening just like that,” he says. He sits up a little straighter and adds, “Now, I've been bursting for almost three hours and if you don't mind, I'd really like to fuck you now.”

Fair enough. Without flourish or preamble, she plucks the condom out of his hand, opens it up, and rolls it onto him. Then climbs on top of him, facing him, and rubs her entrance against the head of his cock a few times to get ready before finally sinking down onto him, the sensation making them both groan in relief.

All that out of the way, she gives him a radiant smile. "Please do."

“Mmmm.” He holds her hips to steady her, then gives her a quick peck on the lips and starts to move, slowly at first. Each time he pushes into her, her body stretches around his girth, and each time he pulls out, he drags against sensitive nerves, pulling soft involuntary moans out of her. As their movements become smoother, he picks up the pace, with faster but still steady thrusts in and out, skin slapping against skin, verbal communication reduced to animalistic grunts. Their gazes are locked, his piercing blue eyes looking at her intensely, and she allows herself to lose herself in him as he does with her. They find their rhythm together; he thrusts and she rides, she sinks and he takes. It's been so long since they've been here, but his touch, his scent, his patterns have been etched into her skin as long as she's known him, and it's the most natural thing in the world to be doing this with him here and now.

“Kiss me,” he says between pants, and she leans down, long hair blanketing them, and kisses him messily as their bodies bounce, lips against chin and cheek and nose, teeth clacking, as their lower bodies move in sync. He comes like this, with his mouth open against her cheek while she whispers his name over and over. She keeps up the pace while he rides it out, and then they gradually come to a stop.

Bobbi lets herself collapse against his chest. She doesn’t want to move, as she’s 100% comfortable in this position and she knows she’ll be sore the second she climbs off of him.

“Hey,” Clint says, rubbing her back. “I love you.”

She can feel a dopey smile spread across her face. “I know,” she responds, surprising herself, because up until this moment, she wouldn’t have felt confident enough to say it, but deep down, she _did_ know. The kind of love they have, it’s not something that goes away. “I love you, too.”

They detangle their limbs, and Clint gets up to dispose of the condom, while Bobbi pulls down the white throw blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it out underneath her. He returns a minute later and joins her on the couch. She wraps the blanket around the two of them, and they cuddle up together, blissed out, soaking up the cocktail of dopamine, sweat, and affection.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, sitting halfway up. “There was food that I made.”

“Mmmm.” She could eat a horse, but she’s not ready to get up. “Later.”

“Okay.” Clint says. She snuggles into him so that she’s leaning against his collarbone, and his chest rumbles under her cheek as he speaks. “It’s weird. A little while ago, I knew exactly how this evening was going to play out. And now I'm in the dark again.”

“I’m okay with not knowing,” Bobbi responds. That’s the magic of it. This is...what, their fifth first time together? Maybe this will be the one that sticks. Or maybe not. Let the future come and do what it will with them—they’ll always find their way back together again. Even death can't keep them apart for long.

Clint stretches his arm out and gets his phone. “I wonder how those pictures turned out.”

“Oh, I want to see,” she says. He opens the photos app and starts to flip through the pictures. Bobbi looks at the pictures and feels herself blushing—even though this is tame compared to what happened later, she’s never had nude pictures taken of her before. Some of these even manage to capture the intimacy between them, the private looks they’re giving each other. She’s never seen it on her own face.

He’s getting hard again, she can feel it against her thigh.

“You like them too, huh?” Bobbi asks, turning to him with a smirk.

He turns on the bedroom eyes at her. “They’re okay. Nothing compared to the real thing, though.”

Does she have another go or two in her? Yeah, she thinks she does. “The real thing’s pretty good,” she admits. She spreads her thighs, letting him settle between them, and it feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> Canon references for events mentioned at the beginning of the story:
> 
> Clint robbing a bank and defeating Parker Robbins: Hawkeye: Freefall #6  
> Bobbi returning from Skrull captivity and the story with Phantom Rider, Crossfire and her mother: Hawkeye & Mockingbird (2010) #1-6  
> Clint kills Skrulls in the Savage Land: Secret Invasion (2008) #2,5  
> Clint kills Bruce Banner: Civil War II #3  
> Clint kills Egghead: Avengers #229-230  
> Clint's time in the wilderness after Bobbi's supposed death: Hawkeye (1994) #1-4  
> Clint's (first) death: Avengers #502  
> Clint and Bobbi's life in House of M: House of M: Avengers #1-4  
> Clint's (second) death: House of M (2005) #7  
> Clint's resurrection: New Avengers (2004) #26


End file.
